


Home

by Cee5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:09:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cee5/pseuds/Cee5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Made by request, a little Mystrade fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Mycroft heard the knock on the door and lifted his head slightly, wondering who would be bothering him so late. Anthea had gone home a long time ago and there he was, all alone. There was no home to return to and the fire felt nice on his cold legs. It had been a tough day, an ordinary one. Plans to make, things to conceal, make sure the rules were broken by the right people. His head was aching.

Another knock. Whoever had come there on this snowy night was persistent. Mycroft placed the papers over the table and talked loudly, inviting the intruder in. The door was only half opened and Gregory Lestrade peered in, an apologetic look on his face.

"I am sorry." He said. "I didn't mean to interrupt you.

Mycroft smiled, unaware. He then got up and held the door's knob, opening it completely.

"No, get in." And Lestrade entered the room, hands on his pockets. "I didn't know it was you. Just thought it might be someone from the staff. But they have all gone home, apparently."

"So, we're alone, you and me?"

The tone on Lestrade's voice left no margin for doubt and Mycroft suppressed a smile. He then indicated him his chair, the best one, and then, as Lestrade sat down, he sat as well, pushing another chair closer to the fireplace.

"How was your day?" He asked.

Lestrade had been busy the last couple of weeks, more than usual and, with Mycroft's work, it had been difficult for them to meet up. Then, with Christmas, Mycroft didn't feel confident enough to ask for his company. Gregory might think he was needy and sentimentalist and he was not.

"It was okay. Not too busy. Most of the people at the station were just celebrating Christmas the best way they know."

"By getting drunk?"

The tone on Mycroft's voice was stern and Lestrade smiled.

"Don't be so tough on us." The fact that he had included himself on the words Mycroft had used to describe his colleagues made the latter flinch. "We just want to relax for a bit. It's Christmas after all."

"I wasn't talking about you. I wasn't labelling you that way. I…"

Lestrade placed a hand on his arm, over the shirt, and smiled again.

"It's okay, I know what you meant. Don't take things so seriously. They do get drunk, though. Not the ones who stay to work, though, so I don't see anything wrong in that."

Mycroft nodded, afraid to say anything that might upset Lestrade and stared at the fireplace, his arm burning underneath Lestrade's hand.

"And your day, how was it? Saved the world again?"

This time Mycroft smiled.

"No. Not yet."

The way Lestrade looked into his eyes showed that it didn't matter. He was his own personal hero.

Mycroft didn't understand why he still stood there. Why he had such faith in him. He was a dead end, a lost soul. He could love, yes, that was certain. But he could not show it properly. However, Lestrade didn't complain and he had never asked for anything more than Mycroft could give him. It made him feel guilty and the feeling was intensified day after day, present after present, care after care. Lestrade just didn't give up. Not that Mycroft wanted him to, no. But it still mesmerized him. And it made him more desperate than ever, more willing to change his character and more frustrated because he couldn't.

Lestrade saw the wrinkle on Mycroft's forehead and made a bit more pressure on his arm.

"Why are you concerned? What is going on? You know you can talk to me."

Mycroft sighed.

"No, it's work. I don't want to bother you with work."

"It's not work. I know that expression, Mycroft. You don't need to lie to me. We've been together for far too long for you to keep thinking you can fool me."

The words might have been harsh, but his expression and tone weren't. He was still not upset. He accepted him, just as he was.

"Sometimes I wonder why you are still with me."

The words came out fast and without warning. He had thought them, but he didn't mean to let them slip.

The other pushed his chair to face him and placed their knees together, holding on to Mycroft's with both his hands.

"Don't you know already?"

"Yes." Mycroft said, swallowing. "But it doesn't make sense at all."

Lestrade laughed this time.

"It's not supposed to make sense. It's supposed to feel… right. And it does feel right."

His gaze was piercing and Mycroft looked at him, trying to conceal his own feelings, and at the same time trying to make himself show them.

"I have something for you." Lestrade said, pulling away. He reached for something in his pocket and gave it to Mycroft.

Mycroft took the little wrapped box in his hand. It was small and light.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Open and find out."

The wood crackled in the fireplace and it was snowing silently outside. He removed the wrapping paper with an assertive movement. There was a black squared box. Inside, there was a key.

"It's a key." He stated.

"Yes."

He knew what it meant. But he wasn't sure what to think of it.

"Will you move in with me?" Lestrade asked. "I know my house isn't much of a deal but this is symbolic, we can search for another place that will suit your taste and in the meantime you can get in anytime you want. I don't know, I was just thinking that…"

"I'd love to." Mycroft said. The words were definitive, and clear.

Lestrade stopped, looking at him and took a deep breath.

"You thought I was going to say no, didn't you?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes." He admitted. "I really thought."

Mycroft shook his head. His hands were shaking, the key inside the right one. Maybe this was a rushed decision, but he was tired of living by the rules and dictated by his mind. It was Christmas, and it was time for renewal and second chances and a bit of faith. Greg loved him and, in any way, he was certain he loved him to.

"Merry Christmas." Mycroft said and leaned forward, placing a kiss on Lestrade's forehead. The other held his head with a hand.

"No." he said.

"No?" Mycroft asked.

"No. You haven't got me a present."

Mycroft freed himself from the grip and leaned back.

"I'm sorry. I forgot." He admitted, embarrassed.

"No you didn't."

And, refusing to let him escape again, Lestrade pulled him closer by his tie and kissed him on the lips. Mycroft didn't react at first, but as the taste of Lestrade's kiss filled his senses, he had no choice but letting go of his fears and embark on the adventure. It wasn't a first kiss. Not even a second. Still, this time it seemed easier. Lestrade looked at him.

"Stop thinking." He said.

And, to his amazement, Mycroft did as he said. The kiss was languid and sweet and Lestrade was smiling. Mycroft pulled away, embarrassed as always. They had shared so much and still, there was still so much to learn, so much to give, so many walls to break.

Lestrade got up and reached out for Mycroft's hand.

"Come on. Let's go home."

Mycroft didn't correct him. They were indeed going home, and it didn't matter the place they were headed. They were each other's home.


End file.
